The Lost Diaries of the Baroness
by BaronessMar
Summary: A story that takes place in the SWTOR Universe. I'll try to keep it somewhat lore friendly, but bare with me. My guild's working on this with me and I dont want to rustle someones jimmies. May become adult in later chapters, does include violence.
1. Prologue

This is the end

The male Twi'lek eased his way through the underground tunnels, gripping his side. Blood pooled just under his finger tips. That damned woman and her blaster... She burned part of his lekku and it hurt like a Rancor's bite. He sighed heavily, pulling the door closed behind him. He listened for the sound of her heels on pavement, the sound of jets cooling off, even for the sound of a revolver being reloaded.

The Twi'lek knew his friends were dead. She had burst in, spraying blasterfire everywhere. He remembered grabbing the waitress at his side and using her as a shield. Two of his mates weren't as lucky. The damned chick had put a bullet right between the eyes of one and spun, wrapped her leg around the other's neck, and jerked ever so slightly. He was dead before the waitress even hit the ground. The Twi'lek had taken off then. All he remembered between the door and his place at the bar, was a seering shot at his lekku and a more precise shot at his side.

The ratways weren't as clean here on Hutta. But the Twi'lek knew if he made it to the spaceport, he could escape and regroup. He didn't know where the woman had came from but he figured she must be after the bounty after him and his friends' heads. After robbing that ank on Corellia, it was risky to expect the Hutts to protect them.

The Twi'lek growled at a cowering Avocii, sending him scurrying away. A sharp pain ripped through him suddenly, and he threw himself at the wall. Sliding down it, he ignored the gunk that pooled under his fingers. He pulled his fingers off the wound, wrapping a part of his shirt around his midriff. Slowly standing up, he inched closer to a grate. He could hear passer-bys but it was too loud to identify anything else over the roar of engines. He smiled a bloody smile as he pushed the grate up. Slowly pulling himself out of the sewers, he spotted his ship. A simple freighter, he could remember all the fast runs by the Imperials and the Republic that he had made. H

The Twi'lek climbed aboard the shi[, glancing behind him. Seeing nothing, he waved at his protocol droid to close the hatch. Heading towards the bridge, he notified the space sector of his departure. Gaining the clearance he needed, he pushed the thrusters upward. The ship rose smoothly and with out a look back, he rocketed out of the spaceport.

Had the Twi'lek had noticed, he also would've seen a small stealth fighter launch from the spaceport, following him, before it fell into stealth mode.


	2. Chapter 1 Cruelty and Exposition

Chapter 1

His name was Massey. A Twi'lek with green eyes and blue skin, he called himself, "The fastest shot in Huttspace". Was it true? Of course not, but you find the competition that begged to differ. They're all dead. A simple blaster sat on his hip as he headed to Nar Shadaa. He couldn't wait to stick his- an explosion rocked the ship. Tucking into a barrel roll, he rolled the ship as he shouted commands to his astromech.

"L5, what in the High Monarchy was that!?", he yelled. L5-P4 beeped incessantly as another shot hit the hull. Growling, he threw the ship upwards. Nar Shadaa was right there but he couldnt make it with this ship on his tail. Rocketing upward, he jerked the the ship downwards, spinning downwards in an attempt to escape the blaster fire. The ship shook again and Massey could feel the cold beads of sweat drip of his brow. He hated space combat. He preferred to do the shooting, relying on his steady arm but in his space, well, he was done for.

Suddenly, the shooting stopped. Cold space surrounded him and his ship. All was peaceful. Glancing around the ship, he couldn't believe it. L5 twittered slightly and began running a systems check. Massey smiled but his smile quickly disappeared.

A thud came from above, followed by another one and another. L5 beeped worriedly.

"What do you mean, warm bodies on the thermal just showed up?! We're in frackin' space, thats impossible!", Massey roared. He yanked the controls hard, trying to roll the ship. The ship stayed still, the controls apparently cut. He freaked. Tearing out of the command chair, Massey raced down the catwalk. He had to get out, he could not be caught by Jedi. It had to be a Jedi. Who else would be crazy enough to go out in cold space?

He grabbed his stash of creds from his locker. Locked in a suitcase, it contained enough to hide away from a time, a meager 2.3mil. Running through the halls, he jumped over a railing. Turning, he hit the button for the escape pod. As he did, the lights went out. He gasped in outrage. No Jedi would catch him today. He chuckled, as he opened the port to the escape pod and was immediately thrown backwards against the wall.

There she stood, everything about her just as he remembered, silohoutted by Nar Shadaa's sun.

Her full body, her luminescent eyes, her glimmering ever changing hair. The bartender of his nightmares. Her revolver shone like a black demon, her finger taking the safety off.

"Massey V'nolé, you are a dead man. You and your gang of vangrants blew up my bar, costing me my life, my body, my eyes... You will pay the price but first, my questions.", she hissed. Massey felt his wound rip open again, the blood pooling in the floor below him. He hissed as the air hit it. The bartender strutted up to his broken body, kicking his legs apart. He growled at her. Her bright white eyes took in his body, licking her lips in anticipation. A hunger was growing and he knew that he was the prime dish.

"Where are the rest of your little members?", she whispered seductively. He spat in her face. No hussy was going to kick him around before putting one in his- he screamed, a guttaral scream. The bartender jabbed her pistol into his wound, smiling wickedly.

"Does it hurt, V'nolé? Does it feel like a million flames, ripping through your insides?", she purred. "Now tell me! Where are they?!" He shook his head. He wanted to beg for mercy, but the pain, oh the pain.

"Please... please... it was just a job... They're on Tattoine... That's... that's all I know... I swear it...", he gasped. The man had never shown his face only tossed a few creds for his friends. Well, a few thousand creds for each. The bartender kicked Massey in his ribs on the other side, making him grunt and hiss. She pulled a knife from a breast pocket on the inside of her armor. A long, pure black blade made of obsidian and enclosed into a beskar case. She took the knife out of the case. Licking the blade, she knelt next to Massey.

"Speak now, V'nolé. My blade thirsts for fresh blood.", she whispered into his ear. His lekku twitched and he could feel his blood run cold. He grunted and tried to roll away. Reaching out, she snagged his left lekku and sliced right through it.

The pain pushed him into a fetal position. It was like all the sound left the Galaxy as he shook incessantly. Blood spurted from the stump where his lekku went. He didn't care what happened to him, this chick had to die. He grabbed his blaster and turned to aim at the bartender. She was gone...

"Blow the gig in 25 seconds, Mako. I'm done here...", he heard her say, stepping out into space. A respirator strapped to her face, she fell backwards into the waiting hold of her ship. Watching the fighter become stealth, a lone tear fell down Massey's face. The daughter of a Sarlacc had strapped bombs to every pillar in the ship and had even stuck one under the captains chair... He prayed a quick prayer as the ship exploded, the shards of metal ripping through his cerulean body quickly. It was the fastest death he could have hoped for.

As the rubble floated a part, a sole lekku floated in space, the sole remnants of Massey V'nolé. Just another victim of a woman scorned. A woman who had been of noble birth. A woman who had been a bartender. A bartender who had been as happy as possible. A bartender who had been blown to pieces, stitched back together and born again. A bartender now on a warpath. Yup, just another victim.


End file.
